


Random Works

by IvyBooks



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2020-06-03 22:56:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19473919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyBooks/pseuds/IvyBooks
Summary: Short stories I've written and wanted to put somewhere





	1. Chapter 1

The soft breeze did nothing to sooth the glowing heat from marking all it could. And with every passing moment waiting in the heat, agitation gnawed into her bones, pushed through her veins.  
‘It’s hot’  
Again and again and again and again. That’s all they say. ‘It’s hot’  
The breeze is an inconsistent blessing; it does nothing to lessen the blistering anger bubbling inside. The breeze offers a soft lie, shrouding the truth of the unforgiving sun.  
‘It’s hot’  
Can’t she say anything else? A comment on a sky almost void of cloud, the fleeting beauty of the life fighting to breath from the coffin of earth it broke free off, if only for a short time. Maybe even of the soft cool cream slowly melting in her hands.  
But no.  
‘It’s hot’  
Folding her paws beneath her and settling onto the temporarily soft grass under her chair, the agitated pup let out a huff as listened to her owner wine again and again and again.


	2. Cherry Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a mighty adventure and a worthy reward

The tree had seemed like an easy challenge, lifting and bending into odd angles, the odd little branch scratching skin. The satisfaction of sitting on the high branches, looking out onto the garden and street below an overflowing pride. But then there was down. I had thought the easiest thing would be to swing my legs, build momentum and jump! But there I was, sitting and wondering how the branches seemed so far away. I had practiced, I remember, jumping down from the stairs. One stair, then two then three. Then I had practiced hanging upside-down and swinging myself of the old rusted green pole of the swing chair. But it hadn’t helped. After what had seemed like hours and was likely only ten minutes, I just looked out into the sky, watching the bird dancing in the summer’s warmth. I liked it up here, alone and quite. Even at 6 I knew I would be up this tree again, no matter what. Therefore I had to do this. Had to jump. I would not be defeated! So swinging my legs, I pushed myself from the ruff skin of the tree.

I don’t remember much after, my mother’s shout and subsequent scolding, my father’s laughter, and my sisters’ giggling. But most I remember is stinging feet, a cut on my hand my reword of my venture, and the taste of those sweet cherries I had scavenged on my adventure, the short lived treasure I cherished in my teeth.


End file.
